


The Curse of Teiresias

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, During Canon, First Time, Fluff, Genderswap, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-09
Updated: 2007-05-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean woke-up one morning with his brother staring at him and discovered he was a girl.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Blinking open his eyes, the first thing he saw was Sam’s face frozen in a disturbingly exaggerated expression that Dean could only assume was shock. Dean blinked, shifted on the bed and the strange way his body was pressing into the mattress registered in his sleep-fogged brain.

 

Dean woke-up one morning with his brother staring at him and discovered he was a girl.

 

He yawned, stretched, and shifted so his breasts weren’t pressing so uncomfortably against the hard mattress before going back to sleep.

 

………………

 

“I don’t think you understand,” Sam said as he paced across the room. Dean tilted his chair back and crossed his legs, his feet propped against the mattress of Sam’s bed and the chair resting against the row of drawers.

 

“I’m a girl,” Dean said with a shrug.

 

“Tell me this doesn’t freak you out!” Sam tossed their dad’s journal on the bed – it had offered no insight into their current predicament. Dean thought maybe Sam would start pulling his hair out next, but Sam’s hands flopped back to his sides. “Stop doing that,” he added, after a moment.

 

Dean stopped prodding his breasts and grinned devilishly at his little brother. “This doesn’t freak me out,” he said, his expression honest. “Weirder things have happened.”

 

“Weirder than this?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, colouring slightly at the memories. “A lot weirder.”

 

“Well, you’ll have to tell me about it, sometime. Right now, we have to figure-out how to turn you back.”

 

“Right. But first, we’re stopping at the mall,” Dean said, dropping the legs of his chair back to the floor and standing.

 

“What?”

 

“Dude, we’re not sure how long I’m going to be like this, and I’m not walking around in flannel now that I’m a chick. I’m not that kind of girl. And besides -- my boots are too big,” Dean said. He flicked his hair over his shoulder, not sure what he thought about its length, and turned on his heel, stalking towards the bathroom.

 

………………………………

 

Dean let the shower run as he stood by the mirror. He was shorter, his hair was longer, his features finer, but he still could see himself in his altered body – all of his scars were still there. His body was curvy and lean, and he was rather proud of the size of his breasts. The shower was steaming-up the mirror, but Dean’s attention was diverted to his legs. He had never been particularly hairy, but Dean was a guy and he didn’t shave his legs. It might have looked fine on him before, but somehow the hair on his legs irritated him now. Still, that problem was easily solved. He grinned as he hefted the shaver he’d nicked from Sam’s kit and then stepped into the shower.

 

…………………

 

“Damn,” Dean said, flinging the door to the change room open and striking a pose. “I’m hot. I’d fuck me.”

 

“I’m happy for you,” Sam drawled, he didn’t look up from his seat where he was paging through dad’s journal yet again. Dean contorted so his upper body was facing the mirror behind him, and smacked his ass. Sam had insisted on practical clothing -- they were on a hunt after all, even if they didn’t know what they were hunting, exactly. He’d brought jeans and cargo pants, and running shoes and zip tops and Dean thought the wardrobe looked a bit familiar but didn’t comment. Dean had added a sundress, and a pair of flip-flops (because Sam had glared when he’d eyed the heels), and some skirts and tops.

 

“How much clothing do you need?” Sam gawked when Dean presented the items he intended to purchase.

 

“We don’t know how long I’m going to be like this,” Dean said, moving towards the counter. “Can you just rip the tags off these? I’m gonna wear them out,” he said to the sales woman who offered to help carry his things.

 

“Did you shave your legs?” Sam asked.

 

Dean dumped his things on the counter and peered down at the portion of his calves that his pedal pushers left exposed. “Yeah, so?”

 

Sam looked at him with an indecipherable expression. “Dude, did you use my shaver?” Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Jerk,” Sam muttered, drifting away from the counter to meander uncomfortably through the store.

 

“I use my boyfriend’s razor all the time,” the girl behind the counter confided. “It works so much better than the ones they have for women. And you know, they’re actually cheaper?” Dean pretended to be suitably outraged as he paid for his things.

 

“Hey, you ready?” he asked, swinging his bags so they thumped Sam’s ass and smirking as his brother jerked in response. He turned towards the exit, grinning a little as his shoes ‘flip flopped’ as he strolled through the mall.

 

………………….

 

“What am I supposed to call you?” Sam wondered idly over their very late breakfast.

 

Dean looked up from his sandwich and eyed his brother as if he were crazy. “Last time I checked, my name was Dean.”

 

“For a girl?” Sam asked.

 

“You have a problem with my name? Besides, there’s plenty of chicks out there with weird-ass names. There was this waitress in Tulsa whose name was …”

 

“Okay, Dean,” Sam said. They ate quietly, tensely, until Dean noted Sam’s tense posture and the glances he was taking to a table across the way.

 

“What’s your problem, man?” Dean asked.

 

“Nothing!” Sam snapped, his fork plunked against the plate as he ruthlessly skewered a fry. Sam didn’t usually eat French fries with a fork but Dean knew Sam sometimes liked to keep a firm grasp on his weapons, even when the closest thing to one was cutlery. It was like a security blanket for his younger brother.

 

“You’re radiating tension all over the place. Seriously, what’s up?”

 

“That guy,” Sam said, his chin jerking up in the direction his eyes kept drifting.

 

Dean stole a glance that way. He wasn’t anything special, just a guy sitting with two of his friends at a table eating a burger. “Yeah? So?”

 

“He keeps checking you out,” Sam muttered, his expression irritated.

 

“Really?” Dean perked-up and turned to look more openly. The guy grinned when he noticed Dean’s attention. He wasn’t much, Dean wouldn’t have even really noticed him if Sam hadn’t pointed him out, but Dean did so love to flirt. Only, he’d never done it from this side of the game.

 

“Would you stop?” Sam said. Dean looked back in time to catch Sam’s scowl in full bloom. “Stop encouraging him.”

 

“Aw, are you jealous?” Dean teased, smoothing out his voice, his tone dropping low. He stretched his leg across the distance and scraped his flip-flop against Sam’s pant leg. “Don’t be angry with me,” he said, pouting.

 

Sam flushed a little and turned his attention back to his fries. “You’re such an asshole.”

 

“Hey!” the waitress who’d been helping them paused where she’d been filling-up Dean’s coffee. “That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend.” She reminded Dean a bit of Ellen as she leaned toward Sam, her look threatening. Dean smirked at Sam, and then blinked innocent eyes at the woman when her focus shifted. “You don’t have to take that kind of attitude from him, Honey.” She grasped his chin between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently before she turned and headed off towards a different table.

 

Dean flashed a devil’s grin at Sam, and then tried to look wounded by Sam’s earlier words. “Aren’t you going to apologize to me, Honey?” Sam glowered, threw some bills on the table and headed towards the door.

 

…………………

 

Dean looked down at the breasts he was cupping through his shirt and announced, “I’m feeling very aware of my breasts.”

 

“Stop groping them,” Sam muttered, trying to ignore the amused look he got from the woman browsing through the fiction section. Sam ignored his brother as best he could and concentrated on the computer he was seated at.

 

“No, I’m serious,” Dean said, still looking at his chest. “It’s this bra,” he declared.

 

“Well, you’ve got twenty others back at the motel,” Sam said, scrolling through a site that had at first seemed hopeful but was quickly deteriorating in worth as he read.

 

“Their nice though, right? Sam. Hey, Sam. Sammy!”

 

“Yes, Dean. God. They’re very nice breasts. Now can you help with this? We’re trying to help you, here.”

 

“Aw, you like my breasts,” Dean declared, draping an arm around his little brother’s shoulders.

 

“Are you finished?”

 

“You’re no fun,” Dean said, but he pulled one of the books on spells from the table and began flipping through it.

 

…………………….

 

“I’ve got nothing, what have you got?” Dean said, rolling his chair over to his brother’s side and peering over his shoulder. He saw the screen before Sam could downsize it. “Was that – Sammy, were you looking at internet porn? In the library?”

 

“No,” Sam said, his face contorting into an affronted look, but his red cheeks told Dean a different story.

 

“You were!” Dean cackled.

 

“The description of the link seemed promising,” Sam said.

 

“I’ll bet.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes, stroked a hand through his hair and spun his chair to face Dean. “The closest I could find was a reference in classical mythology about this, but that’s it.”

 

“Wait, classical mythology?”

 

“Sure. Teiresias, the blind prophet was turned into a woman by the gods.”

 

“Really? I thought he just walked around all doom-and-gloom, telling people not to sleep with their mothers and kill their fathers and shit.” Sam gave him a look that quite poetically articulated shock and also how deeply Dean’s statement had freaked him out. “Dude, I can read. I’m smart, y’know. I’m a complete lexicon of total learning.”

 

“Encyclopaedia,” Sam corrected idly. “Whatever. Anyway, anything else I’ve found has just been –“

 

“Porn …” Dean supplied helpfully. “Man, I should have given you the big dusty texts and taken the computer.”

 

……………………

 

“No, no, no,” Dean said, waving his hands frantically to catch Sam’s attention. “Turn here! Right here!”

 

“Dean, that’s a bar.”

 

“No shit!”

 

“So, why do you want to go to a bar?”

 

“Hi, I’m Dean. Have we met?” Sam stopped the car at the light but wasn’t signalling to turn, was only looking at Dean as if he still expected an explanation. “Uh – I’ve been turned into a girl. Can I have a beer?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, but he turned the flicker on. “One beer, and you’re not picking anyone-up. I’m tired.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said dryly. “Looking at porn is so taxing.”

 

“It was one site!” Dean shut the door and flip-flopped his way to the bar entrance. He had found, over the course of the day, that if he relaxed his body just right then his hips would sway really nicely as he walked. Just cause apparently he couldn’t take anyone back to the motel didn’t mean he couldn’t raise some general interest.

 

………………………

 

“Pig,” Dean muttered under his breath as he stormed out of the bar. He discovered that it was quite difficult to walk angrily and stay angry when his shoes were making happy flip-floppy sounds. “Give me the damned keys!” he ordered, catching them as Sam tossed them in his direction. “Stupid bastard,” he muttered again.

 

He heard the door swing open behind them but didn’t pause, unlocked the driver’s door and slid-into his car. In the rear-view he caught-sight of the guy, just standing there, watching. Dean turned the key as Sam slid-in beside him. He revved the engine and stuck his hand out the window, flipping the jerk off.

 

Dean managed to ignore Sam’s snickering until they were almost back at the motel and the gentle hum of his car’s engine had soothed away most of his irritation. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Sam denied.

 

“He was a skeeze, Sam.” Sam threw his hands-up in the air in surrender, like he completely agreed. If he agreed, then Dean wanted to know why the hell he’d been snickering. “I have standards, y’know.”

 

“I know Dean,” Sam said. “He was out of line.”

 

“Damned straight,” Dean said. He didn’t want to think anymore about what the jerk had proposed they get up to. “Pig,” Dean muttered again. Sam tried to contain his smile, and when he couldn’t, he turned to look out the window. Dean wanted to call him on it, to say ‘Hello! Almost two decades of brotherly togetherness! I know all your tricks, bitch!’ but he didn’t.

 

“He didn’t know we were siblings,” Sam offered.

 

“It would have scratched the paint!” Dean snarled. “And probably dented the hood! And he had a massive beer gut!”

 

“Wait, that’s what you’re fuming about?” Sam asked, his amusement even more apparent than it had been before.

 

“You mean you’re not?” Dean asked. “This car is a classic, dude!” Sam’s laughter filled the impala and Dean felt the rest of his irritation slip away.

 

……………………

 

Dean hadn’t seen the point in the pyjamas Sam had pushed at him when they’d been at the mall. Dean never slept in pyjamas as a guy; he saw no reason why that should change now that he was a girl. He’d secretly tossed them aside in favour of a pair of really nice black strappy-heels that he thought made his legs look really nice. He didn’t tell Sam.

 

Granted, Sam probably figured-it out when Dean crossed from the bathroom to his bed wearing only his black bikini underwear and a black tank top. Dean yawned and scratched his hip absently before climbing under the covers. As he fell asleep he took a moment to be amused that he was ending the day exactly as he had begun it. Dean went to sleep that night, still a girl, with his brother staring at him. “’Night, Sammy.”

 

A moment later, Sam cleared his throat. “Good-night, Dean.”

 

…………………………

 

Dean woke-up the next morning with the sweet smell of coffee filling the room. When he blinked-open his eyes he assumed that the source was the cup that was hovering inches from his nose. “I take everything bad back that I ever said about you,” Dean said as he snatched the coffee from his brother’s grasp and took a deep gulp – just the way he liked it. Sometimes he really loved his brother.

 

“You’ve been saying bad stuff about me?”

 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, I take it all back.” Dean poked at the bag Sam had dropped into his lap and rescued a muffin from its papery cage.

 

“You’re still a girl,” Sam said as he settled onto his own bed and peered at Dean over his own coffee.

 

“No shit,” Dean said, because really, he was more than aware of that fact.

 

“We should probably retrace our steps, figure-out if that spirit had anything to do with this.”

 

“Sure,” Dean said around a mouthful of muffin.

 

…………………….

 

Dean was a little relieved he’d elected to wear the walking shoes Sam had thrust in his direction, because the house they’d hunted the spirit in was kinda sketchy, and there was a strange liquid substance covering the floor in the basement that Sam had assured him was only water but that Dean wasn’t so sure about. “Why are you being such a –“ Sam cut himself off, and Dean laughed loud and long until Sam got fed-up and told him to quit with the teasing.

 

“Y’know,” Dean pointed out as they made their way back to the stairs to climb to the next floor of the house. “A gentlemen would have thrown-down his hoody so I wouldn’t have to walk in the puddle.”

 

“I guess chivalry really is dead,” Sam retorted.

 

Dean tripped on the stair and tumbled into an ungainly sprawl. “Ow! Shit!” he moaned.

 

Dean! Are you okay?” Sam knelt at his feet, his hands already around Dean’s ankle. “Did you twist it? D’you think you can walk?”

 

Dean popped his head up and grinned. “What’s that you were saying about chivalry, Sammy?”

 

“You’re a jerk!” Sam declared, his jaw jutting in that way it did when he was pissed. He pushed passed Dean and carried-on up the stairs.

 

“You so would have carried me out of here, wouldn’t you? Ya big Softy! – Sam! Sammy? Come on!”

 

…………………….

 

Dean leaned across the table in the diner where they’d stopped for lunch and whispered conspiratorially. “I’ve been practising my brush-offs.”

 

Sam let-out a long-suffering sigh. “Really,” he said.

 

“Yeah, check this out.” He turned as the guy he’d noticed approaching made it to the table. Dean had never thought about it before, but guys could really be kinda predictable and a little annoying.

 

“Hey,” the guy said, leaning his hip against the table, facing Dean and grinning – which meant Sam had a face full of the guy’s ass.

 

“Hey,” Dean greeted. He glanced at Sam and wiggled his eyebrows.

 

“You have a great body.”

 

“Thanks, I know,” Dean said. Across the table, Sam rolled his eyes and bit down on a smile.

 

“So, I was wondering if maybe we could get together sometime. Maybe I could give you a call?”

 

“Sure,” Dean said. He leaned forward a bit. “My number is 1-800-No Chance in Hell! Call anytime!” He grinned broadly and wiggled his fingers. A moment later, when the brush-off sunk-in, the guy fumed a little and turned away. “See? I’m good, right?” Sam stole his potato, snatching it clean-off Dean’s plate with his fingers. He was smiling as he glanced at the guy retreating from the table. “Yeah, I’m good,” Dean affirmed for himself.

 

……………………….

 

“What are you wearing?” Sam asked from where he was sprawled on his bed, flipping through the channels on the television.

 

“What?” Dean asked, he glanced down at his outfit: black strappy-heels, black skirt and V-necked low-cut dressy blue shirt. “It’s classy,” he defended. Behind him, the television switched off. “What?”

 

“Hold on,” Sam said. He rifled through his bag and then disappeared into the bathroom.

 

“What’s your problem? I look hot!” He was yelling, but stopped when at the end of his statement Sam opened the door and headed to grab his wallet from the dresser, he was already wearing his shoes. Dean frowned. “I thought you were staying in?” Sam didn’t say anything, just headed to the door. Dean shrugged and followed him out.

 

……………………………

 

Dean peeked around Sam’s shoulder. “Why are we stopped?”

 

“What?” Sam asked.

 

Dean poked the small of his brother’s back. “Come on, I need a shot or three.” They moved out of the doorway of the bar they’d found and Dean headed directly to the bar. As he slid onto the stool the bartender set a martini down in front of him. “Uh,” Dean said. The bartender jerked his head to a dark-haired guy with a five o’clock shadow that actually made him look distinguished. Dean grinned, elbowed Sam’s side and raised the drink in salute before knocking it back.

 

“Dean,” Sam said.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

 

“It’s what I came here for.” He motioned for another drink. “Come on, relax.”

 

“I just don’t think you should be accepting drinks from strange men.”

 

Dean quirked a brow at his brother and tried not to voice his laughter. “I accepted it from the nice bartender.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Wow, wait up. Is that why you came? Are you looking after my honour?”

 

“I’m gonna go play pool,” Sam said, snatching the beer that had been placed in front of him off the bar and heading to a pool table. Dean watched a moment, and was actually a little pleased when he noticed Sam place a bet with another guy who was picking up a cue. So Sam was hustling pool, but Dean had other intentions.

 

“Hey,” Mr. Martini said as he slid onto the stool Sam had vacated.

 

Dean turned and looked-up in that way he’d seen girls do, and flashed a slow smile.

 

…………………….

 

Mr. Martini is actually Matthias, and he has a place not far from there, and Dean’s a bit curious about what it feels like to have sex from a girl’s perspective. He’s about to say yes when the raised voices he’s been ignoring register – one of which, in particular, is very familiar.

 

So Sam’s maybe, kinda, really started a bit of a bar fight – or at least, that’s where this looks like it’s heading. It doesn’t occur to Dean that he looks unthreatening now that he’s in heels and a skirt and even shorter than he was before. What he knows is that the guy back there looks like he’s going to deck Sam out and Dean’s not going to stand for that.

 

“Easy there, little lady,” the guy says. Dean puffs himself up and tries not to be resentful about being called ‘little’ because he isn’t that much shorter than he was as a guy.

 

“Back off,” he warns, and the guy’s friend starts mouthing-off, really foul stuff that Dean’s a little in awe of because he can’t curse like that on his best days, but also incredibly pissed off because the guy’s insulting Sam and casting some pretty nasty insinuations Dean’s way.

 

“I’ll kick your ass,” Dean announces, and hears Sam say ‘Dean’ in that desperate way as he’s trying to get around to face the guys himself. It occurs to Dean that, yeah girls can be strong and all, but regardless of that his body’s changed and his strengths now are in different areas – and that means the entire fighting style Dean has cultivated is more than a little useless because it plays to strengths that he’s not sure he has anymore. Suddenly he doubts the veracity in his statement.

 

There’s a moment of confusion, because Dean’s a girl and that’s thrown off one of Sam’s attackers, but only one and not the other. So while one is eyeing Dean’s chest and kinda leering, and Sam’s trying to manoeuvre Dean to the side so he can deal with his own mess, the other guy darts forward and Dean makes a spur of the moment decision.

 

…………………………

 

“I’ve never hit a guy in the nuts before,” Dean admits as they drive back to the motel. “I always thought that was a pretty low blow. But it was kinda satisfying.”

 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Sam mutters.

 

“Well, I had to do something. What the hell did you stir-up back there to have them going like that?” But Sam won’t answer. “Whatever, dude. We have to spar or something. I gotta figure-out a way to kickass that doesn’t involve nut-kicking. I mean, it’s effective, but there’s something to be said for variety.”

 

\---------------

end part one:


	2. Chapter 2

They spent three more days in the town, and on the fourth Dean said that hanging around wasn’t going to do them any good. “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “We should head back to Lawrence. Maybe Missouri will know something.” Dean had no desire to return to his town of origin, nor was he particularly eager to visit Missouri, but Sam had a point and they both knew it. They packed their stuff into the trunk and however reluctantly, Dean headed towards Lawrence.

 

……………………………

 

When they hit the interstate, Dean popped-in Three Dog Night and sang along to ‘Shambala’ but had to do it an octave higher. Sam quirked his lips but Dean ignored him because the air was warm and the windows were down, the music was loud and the car was purring and Sam was there -- even if he is being kind of a jerk -- and Dean still sang well, even if he was a girl – and that was good enough for Dean.

 

……………………………..

 

“I’m gonna go in and get us something to eat as well,” Sam said as Dean returned the nozzle to the pump. Just as always, Dean noticed the impala was running low on gas before he realized it was well-passed lunch.

 

“No, I’ll get it,” Dean said. “I want to try something.” He plucked the bills from Sam’s hands, flicked his hair over his shoulder and headed into the store. Sam rolled his eyes and opened the passenger door, glancing into the store. Dean was leaning forward on the counter, but he hadn’t pulled a weapon, which meant that whatever Dean had apparently wanted to try was legal – or at the very least, a bit more subtle. He closed the door and pulled-out the map, looking over the route.

 

“Hey!” Dean said, sliding into his seat before slamming his door closed. “Here, I got you a Mr. Freezy!”

 

“What?” Sam looked with trepidation at the long plastic wrapper.

 

“You used to love those things!”

 

“Yeah. When I was twelve!”

 

“You know, I’ve noticed you have a thing about that age. The chubby-twelve year, Mr. Freezy … I’m sensing that you have some unresolved issues with regards to –“

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I’m just trying to be honest. Oh. Here,” Dean thrust the money he’d taken back at Sam.

 

“How did you pay for all this?” Sam asked, eyeing the bag that contained a more reasonable attempt at lunch than the blue Mr. Freezy. Dean looked innocently back – never a good sign. “Did you steal it?”

 

“No way!”

 

“Then how do you still have all this money?” Dean shifted in his seat and Sam’s attention was drawn to Dean’s newly acquired breasts. “That’s what you wanted to try?”

 

“If you got it, flaunt it!”

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

“Why? Hey look, the dude threw in this completely free,” Dean pulled a bottle of KY lotion. “I think he might have been trying to tell me something.” He flipped the cap open and squirted it onto his hands, rubbing them vigorously together. “You want some?”

 

“No.”

 

“Moisturize, Sammy. It keeps you young.”

 

“I don’t think that what he intended the lotion for.” Dean started the car up and headed out of the gas station. “I’m surprised he didn’t throw in a condom.” Dean reached over, one hand still gripping the wheel, and groped blindly in the bag before tossing an entire box of condoms into Sam’s lap. “Jesus,” Sam muttered. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

 

…………………………………………..

 

“Hit me,” Dean demanded. They’d stopped for the night at a small motel just outside of Kansas, and while Sam was using-up all the hot water in the shower, Dean was shoving all the furniture to one side of the room.

 

“What?” Sam said, genuinely confused.

 

“Come on.” Dean was in a fighting stance, he’d kicked-off his shoes and tied his hair back and was ready and waiting. “I need to figure-out my strengths!” Even if Sam had no wish to hit his brother-cum-sister he also couldn’t deny the fact that Dean would be useless in a fight until he knew how to move in his changed body. And since Dean knew he had a point, he was relentless.

 

Sam blocked Dean’s first punch and side-stepped his second, and it went that way for a while until Dean trounced Sam’s bare foot in aggravation. “Ow! Dammit, Dean!”

 

“You’re not helping here, Sam! What’s your problem?” Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief, as if the problem should be self-evident, which okay, maybe it was. “Well, if you can’t get passed your prissy principles and spar with me I’ll just go across the street and start-up a bar-fight and learn the hard way.”

 

“That would certainly be something to see.” But Sam shook out his arms and then retook his stance. Dean nodded in satisfaction and they began in earnest.

 

It was different, but not too much so, and Dean was getting the hang of the change in balance and movement, and that he had to rely on leverage more than muscle-mass, but he was starting to feel like he was doing really well until it occurred to him that Sam should’ve really been able to dodge his last kick.

 

“Bitch!” Dean accused. “Are you pulling back because I’m a chick?” Sam wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Dean mouthed-off a bit, and Sam glared and it was a bit like a bad Western where they were just waiting for the other to draw, until Dean wound his arm back and punched Sam clean across the jaw and Sam went down.

 

“You hit like a girl,” he informed his little brother, stepped over Sam’s long sprawling body and disappeared into the bathroom to shower and shave his legs.

 

…………………………..

 

“Well, look at you!” Missouri said. Dean slid his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head and actually looked down at himself – his flip-flops and blue jeans and black shirt -- and then he shrugged.

 

“Can you help?” Sam asked in a plaintive voice. There was a purple bruise the size and shape of Dean’s fist on his jaw.

 

“Come on in,” Missouri said. They followed her into her kitchen where she already had lunch ready – enough for three – Dean would be amused, except that he just wasn’t. “Just because you have lady-parts now, don’t think I won’t whoop you good if you put your feet up on my chairs!” Missouri warned. Sam smirked and Dean frowned, caught his brother’s eye and mouthed ‘lady parts?’ Dean was a little surprised when he noticed Sam’s eyes drop to his chest. When he looked up a moment later, Dean wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, but then he had to wipe his expression clear when Missouri dropped a plate stuffed with food -- over half of which were vegetables -- in front of him. “Don’t you sass me, girl!” Missouri warned.

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Dean defended. It occurred to him a moment later the ease with which Missouri changed the gender pronoun with which to identify him: ‘girl’, she’d said, and technically it’s true. Dean considered that as he savagely impaled a broccoli with his fork.

 

………………………….

 

“As far as demons and demi-gods go,” Missouri told them as she inspected first one and then the other of Dean’s palms. “They are capable of a thing like this, but it doesn’t happen often. Demons usually prefer a darker kind of revenge, and only fertility gods would employ this sort of change for any purpose.” She cupped her hands below Dean’s chin and tilted his head from side-to-side. “No -- this right here is a curse.”

 

“So how do we reverse it?” Sam asked.

 

“I’m not exactly sure,” Missouri said, not exactly helpfully. “I don’t know if it can be reversed at all,” she hedged, “You’d need to know the spell that was used, and there’s just no way to tell. – It would be old magic, but that’s all I can say for certain.”

 

“Do you know of any spells that could do something like this?” Dean asked.

 

“Girl, do you see me chanting and flying around on a broomstick? I am a psychic! Not some spell-casting witch!” Dean barely managed to stop from pointing out that she had known to make that strange packet of herbs to purify a house. Besides, the comment had given him the bizarre mental-image of Missouri Mosley flying around on a broomstick to contend with.

 

…………………………..

 

Missouri had a spare room upstairs made-up for a guest room and Dean was more than a little thankful that Sam bizarre sensibilities had him volunteering to sleep on the couch even if half of his long body hung-off the end. Missouri dropped a blanket and pillow on the couch before disappearing up the stairs and into her own room, but Dean stayed while Sam made-up his bed.

 

“So, it’s a spell,” Sam reiterated as he removed the cushions on the back of the sofa to gain a bit of extra room.

 

“Seems like,” Dean said. “What are you thinkin’?”

 

“I’m thinking maybe Bobby has a spell book or two that might help.”

 

“Right,” Dean said and heaved a bit of a sigh. “We’ll head out tomorrow, then.”

 

“Dean –“ Sam said in that tone that Dean knew always led towards a ‘can we talk?’ which never went anywhere good, but he sighed and dropped down onto the coffee table as Sam shifted on the sofa. “Dean –“ and it almost felt intimate, Dean leant forward just a little, wondering what Sam was trying to find the words to say.

 

“Girl! Get your be-hind off my coffee table!” Missouri’s yell echoed down the stairs and Dean rolled his eyes and stood-up.

 

“’Night, Sammy,” he said, because whatever that was leading up-to, the moment was more than gone.

 

“Right. Good-night, Dean.”

 

………………………..

 

Dean was pretty confident that he’d gotten the hang of the whole kicking-ass thing. “Even as a girl, I can still whoop you!” he announced happily. Especially when Sam was really trying. It didn’t take too many sparring matches for Sam to realize that pulling back wasn’t doing anything except giving him more bruises. Dean fought dirty, had always fought dirty and likely would always fight dirty.

 

“Yeah?” Sam asked as they grappled. “Well –“ they pitched onto the grass and Sam pinned Dean down. “I’m still taller.”

 

Dean lay still for a moment, scowling darkly before he jerked his hips up hard and fast – enough to knock Sam off-balance – and then rolled his little brother over and pinned him down. “Well, I’m still prettier.”

 

“Come on into the house!” Missouri called from the back porch. “Have some lunch before you head on your way. And Sam – don’t hit your sister. That’s not right.” She disappeared back into the house and Dean grinned triumphantly.

 

As they trudged into the kitchen, Missouri smacked Dean upside the back of the head. “Hey!”

 

She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t think that I don’t know who started that out there!”

 

………………………..

 

Missouri waved them off with her well wishes and another smack to the back of Dean’s head that had him patting at his hair. He took the wheel and drove like a bat out of hell until they’d finally left Kansas behind them. Sam, having been through it all already, knew better than to comment.

 

…………………………

 

“Hey, Sweet Lips,” a man with a beaten-up and stained once-red baseball cap greeted from his pick-up as Dean slowed on a red light. They were passing through a small town the name of which Dean didn’t give a damn about. The man had some suggestions as to what he and Dean might get up to.

 

Dean smirked to himself, wondered where that old coot got off thinking a girl like Dean would be caught-dead anywhere near him, and let the comments slide off him like water off the impala when it’d been freshly waxed. Sam grit his teeth and clenched a hand on the door-handle, as if at any moment, he might spring-out and cause some trouble. “Sleaze ball,” Sam muttered.

 

The light turned green and Dean revved the engine and took-off. “Dyke!! Only a dyke-bitch would drive a car like that!” Dean stuck his hand out the window and happily flipped the man off and let the bastard choke on the dust Dean’s shiny car kicked-up.

 

“I’m confused,” Dean said as they drove along. “Am I a dyke-bitch because I wouldn’t give him the time of day? Or because my car is pretty?”

 

“Pretty?”

 

“Yeah. What? You don’t think my car is pretty?” Dean asked, side-glancing at his brother.

 

“I just never thought I’d hear you describe it as ‘pretty’. Dean – you’re taking this far too well. Frankly, it’s making me a bit uncomfortable.”

 

“What?” Dean asked blandly. “I’m a girl. What do you want? Histrionics? Should I swoon, or something? I’m a little unclear about the protocol. How do you want me to be taking this?”

 

“I don’t know!”

 

They were silent for a while. “Hey, Sammy,” Dean said. “Want to touch my boobs?”

 

“What? No!” Sam squawked, mostly because Dean was reaching for Sam’s hand.

 

“Come on, Sammy! They’re real!” Sam looked mortified, Dean broke-out in loud raucous laughter.

 

“Dean!”

 

“You should have seen your face!”

 

…………………………….

 

They stopped for the night in a two-story motel that had taken the ranch-theme a bit far. It wasn’t Texas, but apparently nobody told that to the motel owner. They dropped their gear on a saddle that’d been nailed to a random fence in their room – which was apparently replacing the usual desk and chair – and Dean announced he was heading to the bar. Sam, for once, agreed with this decision.

 

………………………………..

 

“Jesus,” Sam said.

 

“Whisky,” Dean motioned to the bartender. Sam’s attention was still caught by the large mechanical bull taking-up a place of honour near the centre of the bar. “Hey, Sammy. I dare ya.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bull.

 

“Are you crazy?” Sam asked. Dean made a face and shrugged. “Those things are really unsafe.”

 

“Come on, Geekboy, spice-up your life.” Dean grinned and wiggled his eyebrows – daring.

 

“Did you just tell me to ‘spice-up my life’?”

 

“Yeah. What about it?”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I’m your big sister, Sammy. Now go get me another whisky. Ladies drink free tonight.”

 

…………………………………….

 

Dean plunked his glass down on the counter and burped a little, then raised a hand to cover his mouth. “Oops.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Sam asked suspiciously.

 

“No,” Dean said, and then giggled.

 

“Did you just giggle?”

 

“Dude. I don’t giggle,” Dean said, and then giggled again.

 

“Okay, you’re cut-off. No more whisky for you.”

 

“I didn’t have that much!” Dean denied. “I can usually go a few more rounds!”

 

“Girls have lower alcohol tolerance,” Sam said. “God, Dean. I thought you’d know that.”

 

“Well … you’re supposed to be all watching me and making sure I don’t do stupid stuff and shit!” A large man in cowboy boots and a Stetson wielding a microphone interrupted their would-be argument. Mr. Stetson was all too pleased to announce the start of the bull-riding competition – which was apparently a weekly tradition at the bar, and event that was enjoyed by all and wouldn’t someone like to volunteer and give it a good ol’ try?

 

“Hey!” Dean said in what was supposed to be a whisper but wasn’t. “Weren’t you just saying how much you wanted to ride that thing?”

 

“What?”

 

“Hey! Over here!” Dean called.

 

“No! Dean!” Sam pulled at Dean’s yellow T-shirt, but Dean had already – and perhaps unsurprisingly – caught the attention of the announcer.

 

“Well, come on, then!” Mr. Stetson beckoned.

 

“Oh, you’re going down for this,” Sam promised.

 

Dean grinned broadly, wobbled on his bar stool, clapped loudly and hooted for good measure. “That’s my brother!” Dean called, and cheered. “Come on, Sammy!” Dean laughed louder than anyone when, a few minutes later, Sam was pitched cleanly off the back of the mechanical bull.

 

“Ouch,” Sam said as he settled back onto the barstool. “Hey!” he added when he noticed that Dean hadn’t noticed his return. Instead, Dean was leaning rather heavily on the shoulder of the man sitting beside him. Sam glowered and then grinned.

 

“Well, Pretty Lady,” the man in the Stetson said, leaning in close to Dean. “You gonna give that there bull a try?” He thrust the microphone in Dean’s face. “Your brother there says you can give ‘im a run for his money.”

 

“Sure!” Dean said. “I’ll ride it long and hard, just you watch.” He patted the cheek of the guy he’d been propped against, winked at Sam, and staggered over to the bull, grinning like the Devil.

 

…………………………………………

 

“I can’t believe I won more whisky,” Dean said, one arm around Sam’s waist, the other gripping his prize. Sam was propelling Dean back to their room, as well as supporting most of his weight. “Life is funny.”

 

“It’s somethin’ alright.”

 

“Hey,” Dean said suddenly.

 

“What?”

 

“Uh. Somethin’ important.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said. “What?” He propped Dean against the wall in order to open the door to their room.

 

“I forget.” The door swung open and Dean staggered inside.

 

“You’re very drunk."

 

“It’s your fault,” Dean assured.

 

“Well, I’m sure I must be really sorry, then.”

 

“If you aren’t now, you will be.” Dean kicked-off his shoes and collapsed into bed, not bothering with changing his clothes or pulling-up the blankets.

 

“Dean, that’s my bed.”

 

“S’mine now. Bitch.”

 

“Fine. Jerk.”

 

………………………………….

 

Dean’s alcohol tolerance might have been diminished, but he was still able to wake-up the next morning without a trace of a hangover. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a navy and off-white hoodie, stuck his feet in his running shoes and grabbed the keys.

 

He drove to the closest convenience store and picked-up breakfast and lots of coffee before returning to the motel. “Come on, Princess,” Dean said, kicking Sam’s mattress. “The day’s wasting!”

 

“Since when do you care about that?” Sam mumbled.

 

“Since I’m awake and on my second coffee. Come on! I found us a case.”

 

Sam was suddenly very alert. “A case?”

 

“Yeah. It’s on the way.”

 

“Wait, I thought the plan was to get to Bobby’s and figure-out a way to break the curse?”

 

“Sure it is. But that doesn’t mean we can’t kick a little supernatural-ass on the way, right? Eat-up!”

 

End Part Two:


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